Dead of Night
by Eponine Salvatore
Summary: M for violence. First person. Hermione has a happy marriage from the outside looking in, but it is far from happy. Will Snape discover her secrets while she struggles to be both the perfect wife and a good apprentice?
1. Chapter 1

Sometimes, in the dead of night when the wind whispers ghost tales against the cracked siding of the house and the pine tree scratches an unknown tune on our bedroom window, I can forget all that has happened and be content. In the dark, everything is easier - I cannot see his eyes then, those eyes that can turn blistering cold in a heartbeat. All I know when the dark folds us in its strange embrace is that he loves me, in the only way he can ever know how. I cannot help it, cannot help but love him in return.

Without question.

Without judgment.

I know, logically, that I should leave. That I should run - I know this, even as I know I never will. You see, my husband is a monster. Not the furry horned kind you see in movies or during Halloween, but a human one, a simple man that has not faced his own demons and so turns on the ones that care the most.

Me.

He could help it if he tried hard enough. He knows it isn't right. He knows what he does is something that likely has broken me, caused cracks to spread in my already world-worn soul.

My husband, the man my heart aches for and the reason my tears fall, silver in the early moonlight, with guilt for staying and with guilt for thinking to leave. My husband, who when his voices raises into rumbled thunder I begin to shake, hit me again today.

And hit, of course, is putting it mildly.

Today he almost killed me.

And yet, afterwards, when it was over and I had caught my breath and pressed ice to one of the knots rising from my skull, I held him close and whispered words of sweet forgiveness to him. True words, because I love him and do not want him to feel like I do not. His head still rests on my chest, bruises blossoming underneath the shirt that flutters with his breath, and I stroke his hair.

If I stay, he has someone to love him and care for him despite who he is, and perhaps, deep down, because of it. If I leave, he will be alone but perhaps he will be happier. He knows he is a monster. After the storm of his flashfire temper resides, the guilt in his eyes as he looks at what he has done to me breaks me even more. My presence hurts his soul.

I know this, and I stay.

"Ville? Neville?" I whisper, my voice jerky. He grunts, not wanting to talk - he never does, not when we recover like this, when I hold him and ensure him that I am okay. Not when I ask him what he wants, because he does not know. He used to tell me we would get divorced, and then I would tell him I trusted him not to do this to me anymore.

Now he wants me to stay because he thinks he needs me, and maybe he does.

But he wants me to leave, because its the only way he knows he won't kill me, like he almost did tonight. Its the only way he knows how to keep me safe, but he is selfish.

And perhaps I am too.

It all started out innocuous enough - he didn't actually hurt me until we were married, bound together by law and something more. Something that I don't fully understand even now, after a year of this.

I am quite certain that is the reason I cannot leave - I am compelled by our marriage vows to stay with him. Harry and Ron might say that it is because I champion the underdog, and I want to save my husband from himself.

I don't think that is it - in every other aspect of his life, he is perfect. Well, perhaps he is not the bright and shining intellect I am, but then, few are. He has talents, a career, and he provides for me well, and when he isn't angry, he is funny and very attentive to me.

He really isn't angry that often. Just today, there was a wrinkle in his lucky robes and it was an important hearing at the ministry and his client lost the suit. If I thought about it, I know it was just because no one could have won that case. If I pointed it out to him, I really might be dead. Instead, it was promises of doing better, apologies that I failed, and now croonings that it was not his fault. That I understand and I am okay.

Tomorrow, I tell myself, tomorrow will be better. He is letting me continue my education, finally, after I told him that having my own career would generate more income. More money meant buying him presents, or that he could more readily purchase land in France to build the summer home he wanted. I don't care about Tomorrow, I begin my Potions apprenticeship, and even though it is under the dour and exacting tutelage of Professor Severus Snape, I count myself lucky.

I have a husband who, for now, is meek and compliant in his guilt, and the professor notoriously avoids taking apprentices. He is hard to impress, but I must have done it. I never have before, and part of me wonders what I had done to do so.

Eyelashes flutter without any recollection of having slept, but I know I must have - Neville is gone, my body aches, and the sun is slow to inch its way to the sky, and I am due at the laboratory in one and a half hours.

I shower, glamour the bruises on my neck and take a pain potion. It won't happen again. He knows he went too far this time, and he will be more careful. He still has nightmares of the war. Deep down, something murmured that these are all excuses, but they were all I had.

I probably even, sometimes, deserve it.

I know I have a sharp temper. I know that. I know I don't handle my stress well, especially after the war. Sometimes I get so caught up in reading that I forget to do basic cleaning, and if I am in research I might not even answer 'Ville if he speaks to me.

I stand in the kitchen, make it immaculate so he has nothing more to say tonight, and decide I am too queasy for breakfast with a sigh. My nerves aren't holding up very well, clearly. It could just be because of seeing Professor Snape again after so long with his exacting demands, but it was more than that.

He might notice.

No one had noticed yet, and it had been two years of this. It happened as often as once a week to as infrequently as once every two months, but it hurt. And it has been escalating.

I don't think he will do it again, though.

I'll be a better wife.

I smile with the resolve, try to chase away the butterflies in my stomach, and with a crack I am in front of the gates of Hogwarts.

 _I guess I can try this again. Sorry Neville is such a butt, I figure war does things to people and sometimes you don't expect that out of people._

 _For those of you that might read/have read my other story I do plan on one day finishing it. More likely when I have a computer to type at instead of my phone._


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

AN- sorry for the wait. My kids haven't been sleeping well, so I am a sleep deprived zombie.

It is funny, is it not, that years past I would have trembled with fear upon having to encounter the formidable Potions Master of Hogwarts in all his glory? Today, even though nerves stirred deep in me, I looked forward to my small amount of freedom.

I tried to tell myself that Neville just did not wish to lose me to a lab accident, especially after we all lost so much in the war. I tried to tell myself that it was so good he finally came around, despite my fear that this sweet freedom would be taken away.

I tried to tell myself I would not tremble in fear to talk of my new apprenticeship that evening with my husband.

It would work - until it did not.

I steeled myself and strode across the grounds - I was not due for an hour, and the walk would do wonders for my nerves.

When I finally arrived at the great doors to my once-upon-a-time home, I again felt a wave of nerves. Beyond those doors, Severus Snape would be waiting for me. Beyond those doors lay - yet again - my education that would lead to my future.

My hand shook as I opened one. My mind buzzed with excitement as I walked through. My eyes widened with surprise as I saw the Professor.

I had not seen him since shortly after the end of the war, and several years had since passed. The most notable change was that he had cut his hair short, and it was now sprinkled heavily with grey.

The second most notable change was that he was wearing glasses.

"Miss Granger," he drawled, raising an eyebrow at me.

"It is actually Mrs Longbottom, now, sir," I corrected him, almost flinching back - I spoke without thinking, and was sure to be reprimanded.

The eyebrow lifted higher, and embarrassed, my eyes found themselves directed at the floor.

"Miss Granger will do," he affirmed. And with a gesture of his hand, he turned towards the stairs to the dungeons without even so much as another word.

Meekly, I followed him, wondering what was in store for the day and curious as to his insistence that I still be called Miss Granger, and not by my married name. I entertained the idea that perhaps it was because he hated Neville so, but would not presume to even know any part of Snape's mind.

He had always been an enigma.

He still billowed, he still scowled, and he still commanded all of my attention with his presence. I was sure that he was still as foul as ever, but he was brilliant.

His research I read on the modifications to Wolfsbane that allowed the weres a less painful transformation in addition to docility - marvelous.

I simply could not wait to begin tutelage under him, foul though I thought him.

Instead of the Potions classroom, we entered his office.

"Sit."

I sat, of course, across from him, fiddling with my fingernails, examining my lap. I was rewarded with a long sigh.

Chancing a glance up, I saw him pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes pinched tight. "Sir?"

"If we are to undergo this...horror...of three years, Miss Granger, I require you to sign a contract."

Oh shit.

Neville will have a conniption, and I decided that it would be best to back out. I did not want to, though, and so - "What does such a contract entail?"

He sneered.

"Impertinent, Miss Granger," he said, though I was completely sure I had not been. Yes, Snape was still a right foul git. "Since you need to know, the contract outlines your apprenticeship to me. You will be at my beck and call for the next three years and two months, until which time you take your examination."

Papers shuffled on his desk, and he handed me a quill and a roll of parchment. "Read."

I unrolled the scroll and began to read. It was much what I expected it to be - there was much legal jargon about the importance and necessity of keeping a closed mouth about unpublished research, more about caring for the property of the Potions Master and being attentive to one's own work. Neville would be nervous about the section on liability - I was not, however. If I blew up a cauldron due to carelessness and inattention, I deserved to be thrown out of my apprenticeship.

One line caught my eye - should I choose to, the Potions Master I apprenticed under must provide me living quarters. The apprenticeship also superseded any other magical contracts.

"What does this mean in regards to my marriage, sir?"

An eyebrow raised again.

"Not that I could imagine anyone wanting to be married to that bumbling idiot," he declared, a scowl on his face as he did so, "but it won't, unless you choose it to"

I was still unsure of what that meant - could it be used to call off my marriage vows? I would not tell Neville of that, or the contract. "Neville is a very brave and good man," I protested, feeling the weight of what I knew in my heart to be a lie.

"Very," Snape sneered, and then stood up. "Do you have any more questions? Or are you going to give up, go the way of your lackluster husband and ride your fame?" He punctuated the last three words, emphasized them, and I felt how much he despised me, how he despised the glory that came to us child Gryffindors at the close of the war.

I did not want that.

I signed.

Hermione Longbottom.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's note: Again, I own nothing but plot. Sorry for the delay - we had a wedding to go to cross country for my husband's family, then all my random relatives came here, and the baby isn't ever sleeping so I'm slowly going insane.

Chapter Three

I found myself desperately not wanting to tell Neville about the contract I signed. I wondered if he already knew about magical apprenticeship contracts, and then reasoned that if he did - or if he remembered - he would not have let me get my job.

He doesn't want to hurt me, I know that. And he wants to keep me safe from the outlaw Death Eater sympathizers that were still around. Listening to him is the best way to do that, but sometimes I can be too headstrong.

Like the argument for the job, but I don't want to remember it. I would rather remember my happy, smiling Neville who warmed my bed. I liked to remember that brave Neville who killed Nagini. Not the man with cold eyes.

I put that out of my head and puttered about the kitchen. It was one thing he loved about me: that I would make food the Muggle way instead of using magical means. He claimed it tastes better, made with love like I do. Apparently his late Gran was a terrible cook but a great and formidable witch.

I was making his favorite - I knew he would be petulant and forgiving, wanting to put last night behind us. He would tell me it won't happen again.

I would believe him, because I always do, even though in the back of my head, where I keep my darkest secrets I am afraid even to tell myself, I admit that both of us know he lies.

The floo flared to life in the den, and I could imagine him folding himself out of the fireplace and my heart beat faster and my breath caught in my throat while butterflies quivered in my belly.

I mistook these feelings for love.

He came into the kitchen, his footfalls heavy against the linoleum. "How was work today?" I asked, not turning my back away from the paella pan. I was making the soccarat, the caramelized rice on the bottom of the pan, and his favorite part of the dish. It was a delicate procedure, because too much heat could burn the rice, and too little leave it lacking.

"Fine."

Oh shit, he wasn't in as good of a mood as last night. Something must have happened at work to stress him out. I tried not to tense up, but I must have, because he put his hands on my shoulders.I felt very small, but all he did was give me a squeeze and kiss the top of my head.

"I'm sorry about last night, Hermione. That's the last time, swear to Merlin," he continued. I relaxed, even though I know I was only pretending to believe him. For his benefit or mine, I don't know. "You know I worry about you."

"The paella is done," I said with a winning smile as I took the pan off the heat and turned to face him. "You know I love you, Neville, right?"

I need to assure myself he feels my affection. The contract I recklessly signed loomed in the back of my head today especially, but this is a normal ritual.

"Love you too. The food smells good."

We had gone to Spain for our honeymoon and it was perfect - Neville fell in love with the bold flavors of Spanish fare and the heavy use of seafood and saffron in many of their dishes. I like it, but I preferred its spicier Mexican cousin.

I went about getting the table set up for dinner and I was all smiles. When he first got home I thought tonight would be a bad night, but so far he seemed in a good mood - or at least happy enough with me. Paella probably was a good move on my part; I still suspected that he had a rough day at work.

Halfway through dinner, he informed me that Ginny Potter had another miscarriage and was threatening to kill herself, and so Harry had to get the Aurors involved. She had to be subdued and put on suicide watch in St. Mungo's. This was her fifth one, and knowing Harry and Ginny as I do - or maybe as I did, I so seldom saw them those days - it had to have been devastating to both of them.

"I can't imagine how painful it would be to lose that many," I commented, my voice dull. I knew what was coming; he had said it many times before.

"It's good that we decided not to have children. The spell damage you might have suffered during the war could have done the same thing to you," he remarked. I wanted children. Neville did, until during Ginny's first miscarriage - the baby had been nearly viable, but not quite - she had nearly bled out.

Hermione in the bubble, I thought to myself, even as I told myself that I should not resent him. He was only looking out for me, after all.

The rest of the evening went fairly well, and I was looking forward to going back to work in the morning. Professor Snape had almost been pleasant, and it had been nice to be myself. Of course, the morning would bring the official beginning of the apprenticeship.

I slept well, still tired from the previous night. I had something to look forward to for the first time in a long time - something I wanted for myself, something good that Neville could no longer take away if he decided I was unsafe as a Potions apprentice. I was bound.

The morning dawned and I woke up to bangers and toast kept under a magical stasis charm with a note that wished me a good day and safe travels, which brought a smile to my face. He really was trying; I wouldn't have earned my apprenticeship with my good behavior otherwise.

I practically skipped up the path to Hogwarts' entrance doors before I remembered my place and slowed to a walk. It was too late; Professor Snape had already seen me. He was smirking, but I did not know if it was a good smirk or a bad smirk.

It vanished as soon as he spoke. "Good Morning, Miss Granger," he greeted me, and there was little emotion in his voice. I always admired how readily he closed his mind off, and inwardly I knew myself capable of the same thing under duress.

"Isn't it, though, Professor?" I remarked, surprised by my own cheekiness. I wasn't one for disrespect, but I was so very happy.

"Indeed," was his response, the word stretched out and uttered low. "Come."

He swept away, and away to the dungeons we went. I admired the silence of his swift pace; my footsteps were the only ones that echoed down the stone halls. It was all my mind could focus on; the rest of my train of thought was worried about a hundred other things.

I hoped I would make a good apprentice.

I wondered if I would see the other professors.

I hoped this morning was a good sign.

Something tried to tell me it was the same as every other grace period.

I tried to ignore it.

The Slytherin dungeons were down here somewhere.

The professor stopped so suddenly that I very nearly walked right into his back, but I halted just in time. I was, however, close enough to get a whiff of his cologne.

Tea tree oil. Cocoa. Menthol.

Professor Snape smelled like mint chocolate chip ice cream. I had to fake a sneeze to cover up the giggle I had at that realization. I made a note to tell Neville later.

"Today I will be showing you our workspace and instructing you in the care of a potioneer's lab," he said as he tapped a series of stones in the wall. I noted the pattern in case I would ever find it necessary. The wall began to glitter, and he spoke a password, low and sibilant.

Though I was forced to admit that the day sounded fairly dull, as the wall coalesced into an arched doorway, the sight that met my eyes left me breathless.

My jaw must have dropped, as the professor remarked, "A proper potions lab is nothing like the classroom, Miss Granger. The ingredients and brews themselves are more volatile. Even the smallest iota of magic can mean the difference between success...or death. I sincerely hope that your husband's lack of skills has not rubbed off on you."

I held myself back from shooting him a scathing look and instead breathed, "It is beautiful, Professor."

We worked all day, side by side, as we cleaned already clean cauldrons and dispelled marble countertops until they gleamed. It was something remarkable to actually see the professor work. He took off his outer robes, and though he left his shirt sleeves down and buttoned around his wrists - he reprimanded me at this point for not wearing long sleeves and informed me that the next day would be spent outfitting me in the correct protective gear - it was nice to see him as something other than the swooping bat of the dungeons.

Other than the one minor reprimand, which was accompanied by a complaint that his lesson plans must change, the day passed in relative peace. Neither of us spoke much. The Muggle cleaning was cathartic to me, and I surmised it must be to him as well.

I still remembered the foolish wand waving speech from first year.

As dinner neared, I became shocked that the day had passed in what felt like a rush. The quiet companionship had been quite nice compared to my usual lack of company other than Neville, once he was home from work and occasionally on weekends.

Professor Snape told me to meet him at the Leaky the next morning, and we began our trek back to the doors that would take me to the grounds. Silence reigned. My day had been long and my hands were sore from the manual labor. Eight hours of scrubbing cauldrons and chalking and sanding marble was not an easy feat.

"Thank you, Professor," I said with a smile - despite the repetition and the lack of any actual learning, the day had been one of the best I had had in a long while. I caught his eyes widen a fraction of a second before he schooled his features. A nod was all the response he gave, and then I offered him a little wave before I skipped away to the gates.

As I left, I thought I heard him say, "Good day, Miss Granger," but when I turned back to respond, he had already slipped inside the castle. I smiled.

Hopefully Neville would not mind take away.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: I find myself needing to answer some of my own questions about what happens next. So an update! I'm on pins and needles waiting for some reviews. What do you like? Not like? What do you think happens next? The familiar characters and familiar settings are not mine.

Chapter Four

I watched him with some trepidation as he inspected our dinner. I had picked up fish and chips for both of us, as well as some cola and what I knew was Neville's favorite beer. He didn't look displeased, but I felt on edge nonetheless. There was a tension in his shoulders and a cold look in his eyes that I had come to recognize. It always showed up before things went bad. Sometimes it went away. Sometimes it didn't. And it always, always came back.

"It's been awhile since we have had fish and chips," I ventured. "I thought maybe we could eat outside, like we did the summer we got married."

His smile was tight, but the coldness backed away and I knew I might be safe yet tonight as long as I played my cards right. Neville liked to be reminded of when we were dating, our whirlwind romance after the war, after I caught Ron cheating, after I couldn't get my parents' memories back. They were better times for us.

He didn't hit me until several months after our marriage, when I had come to depend on him less and started looking for jobs and talking about trying for an apprenticeship.

"That sounds good, Hermione."

His voice wasn't warm, but it wasn't cold either. I thought maybe I could salvage this and stretch it out a few more days.

We settled in to eat, sitting at our outdoor bar table and its tall stools. I loved this table, these stools - for all the bad, Neville and I have had a lot of fond memories.

"How is Professor Snape treating you?" he asked.

"He is civil, but we haven't spoken much. Today we just cleaned the laboratory we will be working in," I said, biting my lip a little when I was finished speaking. The relaxed expression had not left Neville's face. Maybe he really was trying.

Maybe it wouldn't happen again.

"Sounds like detention."

I laughed and that seemed to please him. Laughing at his jokes usually did. "At least he can't take house points when I ask too many questions."

A twist of a grin.

I felt triumphant. I felt in love. My husband was safe again tonight, and I hoped he would continue to be so. It felt like old times, when he first brought me out of my shell.

The rest of dinner went without a hitch, and as I was cleaning up I inquired about Ginny. Neville shook his head sadly, "I don't understand why she keeps trying. Perhaps you should write your condolences to them."

"May I invite them for dinner this weekend?"

The cold seeped back in, and I was not certain why, but Neville just muttered, "If you must." I checked his fists - unclenched. He was annoyed but not angry, and so desperate was I to see Harry and Ginny that I decided to take the risk.

I quickly penned a note to Harry asking them over for dinner on Friday, and told Neville I was retiring, that the day would be long.

He followed me, and with gentle touches and soft kisses, he was able to seduce me. As we lay in post orgasmic bliss, he slipped an arm around me and pulled me close. "Beautiful. I love you, Herms," he murmured, and I couldn't help but grin.

I'm always so hungry for his approval, his affection.

"I love you too, Neville."

And it really, in that moment, felt like things would be okay.

The next morning I met Professor Snape at the Leaky Cauldron, as we had arranged. I hadn't known what to wear and he scowled when he saw me. I almost wanted to flinch away: I no longer had good memories of scowling men. Violence usually followed. I wasn't wearing anything outrageous - just some casual robes over jeans and a nice blouse.

"Miss Granger," he drawled, "I do not wish my apprentice to look so bedraggled in public."

"Sir?"

"Wrinkles."

"Oh."

"Muggle. Clothes."

"But sir -" Equality should be a thing; since the war ended, Muggleborn wizarding folk had been wearing Muggle clothing more and more. I had thought that this would be acceptable, and although I may be meeker around Neville, I am by no means not me.

"Custom, Miss Granger, dictates that the apprentice should be in potioneer's robes at all times when with his or her Master. Barring that, they should dress in full robes. It is professional."

I nodded, although I am sure fire still burned in my eyes. I wanted to argue, I wanted to tell him that it was preposterous. He might have raised an eyebrow, and I just offered him a shy smile.

"Perhaps I did not read the contract as thoroughly as I might have," was all I could say, and he scowled again. I had been too excited about the prospect of apprenticing to him, and it had been so long since Neville had pulled me away from academia. Perhaps the professor was wondering what he had done.

"Indeed. Come, Miss Granger." He gestured, and when he turned, his robes billowed.

He led me to an apothecary I was not familiar with. Aconite, it was simply called. It actually looked quite inviting. It must have just opened after the war, after I married Neville. We entered and I was surprised at how well lit, organized, and stocked it was. There was a display case behind the counter of valuable ingredients.

"I've never been here before," I couldn't help but marvel, walking over to the nearest shelf to run my finger along the placards that were engraved in it. I couldn't wait to start brewing; I looked at the professor with a wide smile.

He was scowling when we made eye contact, but I thought that my smile might have softened his look slightly. He gestured to the sales desk, and I followed him. I was nervous as what to expect, but the clerk greeted him warmly.

"Rupert," said Professor Snape in return, "Please outfit my apprentice in the garb she will require."

"Most certainly! Come..." he paused, and the professor supplied my name, "Yes, Miss Granger, and I will get you everything you need. I'll make your wildest potions dreams come true!"

I gave him an odd look, and then looked to the professor. He just raised an eyebrow. Well, it isn't like I had never dealt with wacky before. "Okay," I murmured half-heartedly, and Rupert whisked me away to the back.

"Honestly, why you didn't come to me before you signed, I don't know. Severus should have told you to come, he knows how I like a challenge. Ingredients aren't hard at all, but a potioneer's garb! That's an honor, you know, especially if the apprentice goes on to Mastery and still wears the same garb. It's meant to last a lifetime," he rambles on, although much of this I had no idea about.

"Are you a Master?" I asked, although it didn't seem like it. "I actually didn't know any of this until just now, and I didn't know this apothecary existed."

"Merlin! Me, a Potions Master? I haven't the magic. Not a Squib, not quite, but I cannot make the ingredients behave the way they should no matter how closely I follow Severus' instructions. You haven't heard of us? However not? Have you been living under a rock? Why, Severus and I have owned Aconite since a few months after the war ended."

Wait. What?

Professor Snape owned an apothecary? He had a friend? This was a little much for me. Clearly, I needed to get out more. Rupert prattled on about the reasons he liked his job, and I only half-listened.

He took measurements, made notes, and then scurried off to another room. I was left with the command to stay put. That was easier said than done, because I was full of questions for my mentor. I rather wanted to run out and ask him all of them at once.

When Rupert came back, he informed me I could expect a delivery that evening. Before I exited to reunite with Professor Snape, I cast a tempus. With all the measuring and talking he had done, I was surprised that it was almost lunch.

He was minding the log books at the clerk's desk, and when he saw Rupert and I emerge, I could see him relax. He almost - almost - smiled. There had to be a story here. Rupert seemed too bumbling to ever have gotten into Severus' good graces, even if he was as skilled with robecraft as he claimed.

"Is it done?" Snape asked.

"Yes. Why, Severus, you should have told her about our store. I couldn't believe she's never heard of it. And did you know that she didn't know what Hippogriff Quill was? And she didn't know about the Weird Sisters! Where did you find her, under a rock?"

The professor gave me a sidelong glance. I suddenly felt that perhaps this getting back into society was perhaps a very bad idea. Certainly he would know that this ignorance of mine wasn't typical of me. He would know.

"I...haven't been out much. The war," I answered, looking at my fingernails. I really should cut them. They were getting long enough to gather dirt underneath the edges. I knew that didn't bode well for the subtle science of Potions.

It was almost as if Rupert didn't know who I was, since he just shook his head and clucked. My excuse seemed to satisfy the professor, but I felt like it was a poor one.

"How much do I owe...?" I queried, desperate for something else to talk about. The attention of these two men on me - both of them polar opposites of each other - made me feel nervous.

It could have been something else, something I was only peripherally aware of at the moment. It could have been I was nervous to go home, to tell Neville what my day comprised of. He was sure to ask.

Rupert simply laughed and waved at my question. "The apprentice of the owner? Severus! Do you tell her nothing?"

He sneered and gave me a cold look. The thought that he might not like being referred to in such an easy manner while I was around crossed my mind. That, or perhaps he thought I was being a dunderhead, despite our good day yesterday.

"It is included in operating costs, Miss Granger," he informed me.

For the second time that day, I found myself saying, "Oh."

We left the store and I followed him meekly. Long ago, I had learned not to pester the Potions Master when he was in a foul mood. I simply walked behind him, watching his feet. We already had my potioneer's robes ordered; what else was there to do today?

We stopped in front of another unfamiliar shopfront.

I looked up - Hippogriff Quill, cafe and bookstore.

"Sir?" I ventured.

"You haven't seen it, have you? The Abbott girl owns it," he said, and I was surprised at that. I always thought Hannah to be the sweet, homemaker type, not the type to own a business. That should be me. I should be successful in my professional life, but here I was just starting. My resentment was building towards Neville, and perhaps the professor saw the small frown I felt tug on my lips. "It is lunch time, is it not?" He sneered.

Oh, he must have thought I thought he was being nice, to show me something I hadn't seen before. I was hungry, I supposed, and I wouldn't mind eating. "I suppose you are correct, sir," I replied. My face felt hot; I hoped I wasn't blushing.

Lunch was a quiet affair, and I was certain we drew quite a few looks from other customers. Until now we had blended into the crowd, but now the best friend of Harry Potter and the hero of the war, I mean, the professor, together certainly caught the attention.

There wasn't anything untoward going on.

Just lunch between a Master and apprentice.

He barely spoke, except to comment on the food selection. I ordered, as usual when I am out, fish and chips, and he had a Reuben. Apparently, fish and chips were "fried monstrosities are just waiting to tear apart hearts with claws and sabers," and it was "appalling that anyone would deign touch the stuff."

Lunch was good, and after, I asked if I could at least window shop for books. He agreed, and we parted ways as I had to peruse the shelves aisle by aisle and he was only interested in the Defense and Potions sections.

Nothing particular caught my eye until I arrived in the Potions section, although I did pick up the newest addition of Hogwarts, A History. As I ran my finger down the leather binding of the books, relishing the feel of it, smooth and supple - I saw it.

It was a book published by Professor Snape on antivenoms, antidotes, and healing. I - well, my thoughts might have been colored by Harry and Ron always nattering on about how evil the man was - always thought he would be on the darker side of brewing.

The wizarding world would, I suppose, forgive someone more readily if he was putting skills out there to fix maladies.

I decided to purchase it. The Half-blood Prince's notes in Harry's sixth year textbook had made an impression on me. The man was brilliant. Hopefully he had imparted some similar wisdom in this book.

So - two academic books when I hadn't read anything other than cookbooks and literature since things went bad with Neville. It would be great if he was okay with it.

Should I risk it? I glanced over at Professor Snape as he thumbed through a thick tome on rare ingredients, and decided that to finally impress this man, it had to be.

I had spent my entire school time trying to live up to Professor Snape's exacting standards and I wasn't about disappoint him after he picked me as an apprentice.

After I made my purchases, I sat down at a table with a cup of tea in order to begin reading Hogwarts, A History. By page two I wanted a quill so I could add annotations of my own. Each edition was different than the last, in both organization and content. This one was glossing over the Founders and their wards, the wards that made the school entirely too sentient for a building.

The professor came over and gathered me when it was time to depart.

I had time enough to thank him, ask him a small question about his book (to which he scowled and ignored), and watch him hastily apparate away.


End file.
